


Once...

by BlackRitual



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Song - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackRitual/pseuds/BlackRitual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Albert Alexander, The Suspender Man, etc. There are a few SPG songs that are about larger-than-life people. What most fans don’t realize is that there is a link between each robot of the band and one of those humans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Captain Albert Alexander

**Author's Note:**

> Holy tortilla-horse I wrote this all in almost one day. :) I hope you all enjoy this very interesting idea! This plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone. Give it a read; it might blow your mind.

**Prologue**

" _Alright, we have enough time for one last question."_

_The audience protested to no avail. The Spine nodded in sympathy and The Jon wagged his hat at them in gratitude. Tonight's show had been a big success—everything had worked wonderfully, the people had enjoyed themselves, and no one had broken down on stage. It seemed like more and more people were coming to their shows. A spark of excitement filled their hearts and boilers. Perhaps they were finally about to make it big._

" _Yes, ma'am?" The Spine pointed to a young woman in the crowd._

_Nearby people looked at the chosen fan with envy as she put down her hand. "Um…" she took a deep breath before asking her question, "Some of your songs are about incredible and unique people like Captain Albert Alexander or Rex Marksley. I was wondering…who did you base those characters on?"_

_Gold, silver and bronze faceplates lifted into smiles. The three performing robots shared a brief look in silence. Rabbit shrugged. After a pause, The Spine nodded and The Jon gave Rabbit a jerky thumbs-up._

" _That's a good question," Rabbit replied. His neck joints squeaked as he turned back to face the audience with a grin. "Y-y-y-you see, what most people don't realize is that they're not-not just stories. We actually knew those pe-people, in a way. Once…"_

**Chapter 1: Captain Albert Alexander**

"We need a new idea for songs, guys." The Spine announced to his companions in the practice room. Rabbit heard the seriousness in his friends' voice and dropped the bundle of cables he had been messing with. The Jon was lying on the ground, smiling absently and staring up at the cracked gray ceiling. His head rested comfortably against a chair leg. No one had bothered explaining to him how the object was intended to be used.

"Perhaps something that the little ones could follow along with," suggested The Spine. Young children loved to watch them perform. "It could be like a sing-along…"

"And there should be dancing!" exclaimed The Jon. He sat up with a burst of steam. "Pappy says that lots of people like to wa-atch us move."

Rabbit reached up over his head and pulled a cord. A lightbulb blazed to life above his tricorne hat. "I've got an i-i-idea!" He proclaimed with glee.

"What if we could do a story," Rabbit pointed to The Spine. "… _and_ a song," he pointed at The Jon with his other hand. "…at the same time? It would be like…a song-story!" he finished proudly and grinned.

The room was quiet for a moment. "A story-" said The Spine.

" _And_ a song?" asked The Jon. They looked doubtful. Or at least The Spine did. The Jon just seemed confused. His internal wiring was probably struggling to process Rabbit's unusual brainspark.

"So, what you're suggesting is that we tell a story…while singing a song?" The Spine asked. His silver brow furrowed in thought. "Like…a story-song?"

"Great idea, Spine!" chirped The Jon. "Let's do it!"

"B-b-but you guys, I was the-the one who thought of…"

"Yes, it does seem interesting, doesn't it?" said The Spine. "I'm glad I thought of it. Let's give it a try! Rabbit, why are you frowning?"

"Nothing," the copper automation shook his head. Luckily, no parts came loose. "So we're gonna make a story-song?"

The Spine nodded as The Jon rolled across the floor to fetch his instrument.

"Yay-y!" cheered Rabbit. He smiled broadly, "I've got the most amazing one in mind!"

* * *

_Just before he went down,_

_He called out to his crew,_

_It's obvious that my time has come,_

_I'll let this ending ensue,_

_I've led an exciting nautical life it would seem,_

_And there's no better end than a death by the sea!_

The crew huddled at the front of the cramped lifeboat as they bobbed up and down in the sea. Most stared off numbly at the horizon, either unable or unwilling to forget what they had seen. The sound of men sniffling and grief-filled moans floated over the icy breeze. Every member of the crew brushed away tears, small drops of salt water joining with the vast ocean. Captain Albert Alexander's final words echoed in their minds. Their cherished captain had just sunk beneath the waves.

_That Captain Albert Alexander,_

_He went down in the sea…_

Where was he? What had happened? Why…why did he feel so confused? There was a very bright light and it hurt. Everything had seemed the darkest black for the longest time. Slowly, very slowly, Captain Albert Alexander's mind began to boot up, as if surfacing from the deepest dive…

Wait. Hadn't he drowned? Saint Mary, he had! That nefarious octopus had finally done him in, and the prophecy from his youth had been fulfilled. His last, soggy memory was of a black tri-cornered hat, drifting away on the waves above him…although his red bandana miraculously remained on top of his bald head.

So, if he was supposed to be dead, why was he here? The Captain tried to move. From what he could remember about "feeling", he seemed to be bound. But was he tied up or tied down? Hahah, words were silly.

"Ah, good," Said a voice. "It worked."

A dark shape began to solidify against the blinding light. It appeared to be a man, young and handsome with weary eyes. He sighed deeply in relief. Something green and glowing was held in his right hand. The man quickly opened up something too hazy to recognize (A very thick sack, perhaps?) and placed the object carefully inside, as if the luminous rock were more dangerous than a barrel of gunpowder.

Captain Albert Alexander did not understand. Who was this strange man? His vision was still blurry, and not improving. "A-Are you G-G-God?" he asked. Immediately he felt a faint prick of embarrassment. Confounded stutter! Of all the times for his inconvenient impediment to, well, impede him! In front of him was the Creator!

The man smiled kindly behind his curly beard. "No, sir," he replied gently. "I am not God. Merely…an inventor. But I can understand why you would think that."

"You must have had a very large amount of spirit, sir," he changed topics. "Only very special souls will have enough energy for me and my 'work' to succeed."

"I have read about your remarkable adventures, Captain," The man nodded sagely. "The tales of your exploits are quite inspiring. Oh, excuse me. You probably haven't heard, being dead and all."

He smiled again, this time with humor. "Your crew had such high opinions of you that they took it upon themselves to ensure that the world would remember your name. It was a difficult task. But they loved you enough to see it through. And it was well worth it, I must say. I found an account of your thrilling saga years ago, from an old book locked away in a sea chest. Captain, you have my fervent respect."

His hands reached out of sight to fiddle with something. At once Captain Albert Alexander felt a tingling jolt spark through him, as if he was being zapped by a swarm of electric eels.

"You were an astounding man with a zest for life, friends and fun," the man continued. "This world doesn't seem as bright without you." He grinned with excitement. "I have a plan, Captain. If all goes well, your story won't be over quite yet."

* * *

The last chords of the guitar and final notes of the song faded away. All three robots held an ending pose for one second, and then relaxed. Rabbit's right arm twitched and air hissed from his joints. The copper robot was silent for a rare moment while his pistons worked and gears whirred, but at least he wasn't in danger of overheating. Although his body was working to recover from his lengthy dance, his photoreceptors seemed alive with a strange light.

The Spine grinned and shook his head, the motion jerky despite his beast efforts.

The Jon giggled. "Rabbit, that's cheating!" he teased.

"No it's not! Everyone will _love_ the great tale of Captain Albert Alexander!"

"Well, I'll admit that I wasn't expecting that." Said The Spine. "Although I suppose it does make a lovely song-story, er, story-song. If you're really okay with us using it, that is…"

Rabbit gave two firm nods.

"But I think that we should end the song with him going down in the sea," The Spine suggested. "Better not give too much away." He repositioned his guitar for the editing round. "We may need to adjust the dance routine as well. You shouldn't put too much strain on yourself."

"Could we dance too?" The Jon asked. "It would help R-Rabbit."

"No, I'll do it!" Rabbit huffed. "And it's not hard at all; it's fun!"

"Haha. Well alright." The Spine relented. "You are the most energetic of us three anyway. And you also enjoy being the center of attention. I suppose you'll tell it best." He strummed his guitar.

"Besides, it _is_ your story after all."


	2. Rex Marksley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE STORY CONTINUES. 8U Enjoy, everybody!
> 
> Also, I kinda made references to 2 or 3 other SPG songs in this one. See if you can find them! ;)

**Chapter 2**

"I swear, my hands will fall off if they have to play that song again," The Spine sighed. He, Rabbit, and The John had spent most of their practice time during the last two days rehearsing Captain Albert Alexander over and over. Rabbit had invented many new additions for his narrative pantomime. He obviously enjoyed retelling his past life.

The Jon had almost as much fun bobbing along to the beat, and The Spine enjoyed their new song as well. It was a charming tune, with breezy vocals and a catchy rhythm, but even robots could get bored. The song was also rather lengthy and The Spine was sure that if he were human, blisters would be forming on his poor finger digits.

There was a small commotion as Rabbit nearly lost his balance coming out of a spin. He had been trying to insert that move into his routine, but it really wasn't working out too well. "Is there a story that you'd like to tell, Spine?" he asked. "A s-s-story-song from your titanium heart? I bet you got something good!" Rabbit smiled.

"Well…" The Spine fell silent. He was lost in thought for a while. Finally, he spoke again. "If I did, would you fellas want to hear it? I think I may have one that's a little bit like yours, Rabbit."

"Of course we wanna hear it! Right, The Jon?"

"Absolutely-positively-pumpernickel!"

"You'll probably look at me differently afterward…" The Spine said.

"No we won't," steam escaped to the air as Rabbit huffed. "Y-Y-You'll still be our bestest pal!"

Well then. The Spine felt his boiler warm with happiness, touched by the robots' camaraderie. "Fine. And hey, everyone likes cowboys, right?" He said as he strummed his guitar and began to play a song almost as old as himself.

* * *

_Rex Marksley,  
Finest marksman in the west,  
Rex Marksley,  
When it came to gun slinging, he was the best…_

The western sun beat down upon the wooden houses and dusty road. Most of the buildings and shops were faded and colored brown, beige and white, with the occasional bolder shade of paint. Birds circled high in a sky that was as blue as a desert wildflower. A rare breeze ruffled through the dry wilderness air. The sound of jackalopes yodeling happily drifted faintly over from the plains. In the center of that small desert town, a crowd of people had gathered around a single person.

"Thank you, Mr. Marksley!" A small boy cried as he hugged a man's leg.

"Whoa there, partner," the cowboy laughed. His hat kept the sun out of his eyes, but they had a spark and shine to them nonetheless. He wore a silver jacket adorned with buckles and buttons, and leather belts around his waist.

"That Rattlesnake King wasn't really as mean or scary up close. In fact, I doubt he'll ever bother you folks again." He said and patted the boy on the head. "You're welcome, though."

The boy let go of his trousers. "Mr. Marksley, you're my hero!" The child grinned. "I wanna be brave and strong and smart like you one day."

"Well, that's very kind of you. I'm sure you will."

"I think that everybody should hear about you, Mr. Marksley," the boy jabbered. "Then they can all know about the amazing stuff that you've did!"

"Done," his mother corrected. She nodded and smiled apologetically before gently grabbing her son and scooping him up in her arms. "He has _done_ amazing things, dear."

Marksley tipped his hat to the lady. Other townsfolk approached him to give their thanks, well-wishes, and goodbyes. He spent a few moments with each of them before saying one last big farewell to them all.

The town's hero loaded his bags onto a metal horse before hopping into the saddle. Steam burst from the nostrils and neck-pipes of his stallion as it activated. The gears in its throat ground to life, producing a distorted rumble. Marksley guided it by the reins and it turned, metallic hooves clanged against the ground. The crowd cheered behind master and machine as they headed down the road to the edge of town.

"That's a fancy horse you got there, Rex," a young woman called from a nearby porch. "Made it yourself, I see." She smiled and leaned over the wooden railing. Her sky-blue dress fluttered in the soft wind. Her brown hair was tied back and decorated with a single blue feather. She held an elegant red fan opened wide in one hand.

Rex Marksley smiled. She must have wanted to catch him before he left. "Brianna," he greeted the lady and nudged his horse a few paces closer. He tipped his hat to her. "It's always a pleasure to see such a beautiful dame. I hope that you'll enjoy yourself again now that the Rattlesnake King is gone."

"You are man of rare skill, Rex." Brianna said. "Will you wander back our way soon? Please say you'll come back and play the guitar for us again," she pleaded.

Rex took off his hat and scratched his head. He seemed to be considering her words. Brianna gazed at him with soulful eyes, silently begging him to say yes. Rex had never returned to a town he had saved, except if a new crisis arose or one returned.

Finally, Rex put his hat back on. The silver horse whinnied and tossed its metal-piped mane. He smiled warmly at the lady in the blue dress. "Next Saturday?" he asked.

Brianna's face lit up with joy. "Saturday night," she eagerly agreed.

With a crack of the reins and a burst of hoof beats, Rex Marksley galloped away from his most recent victory. Brianna waved her fan behind him, bidding farewell. She hoped that he would keep his promise.

Rex rode off towards the sun, like any good cowboy, on top of the steam-powered horse he had made himself.

* * *

_The man was a legend and hero through and through,  
and Rex was a friend to the battered and the bruised,  
He had seen a lot of wonderments in his glory days,  
and he died an old man alone on the prairie they say…_

"Or maybe he just found a new life!" Rabbit sniggered. He laughed as The Jon pretended to ride an invisible horse around their practice room. The Jon had found a mustache, dark sunglasses, and a bandana that he had quickly tied around his neck. Now he was playing cowboy.

The Spine smiled at his friends' antics. Rabbit's words had sent a spark through his circuits…

* * *

"Found you."

Rex Marksley looked up and squinted in the low afternoon sun. He had a visitor.

It was a man, tall and dark-haired, dressed in a formal coat. The man dismounted from a black-and-gray horse that looked painfully similar to the one Rex had built so long ago. He approached and tied his steed loosely to a wooden baluster holding up the handrail of Rex's shack.

"It required quite a horse-adventure to get here," said the man. He wiped the sweat off his brow and then smiled. "You really must have wanted to disappear."

Rex frowned and shifted in his wicker chair. He wished he still had his old strength. Who was this stranger? And why had this fool apparently chased after a western legend so desperately?

"What do you want from me?" Rex demanded.

"Music."

Rex was so surprised that for a moment he forgot to be suspicious. He had definitely not been expecting that for an answer. Rex had expected a plea for help—to save people or a town from bandits, or news of a monster that needed to be fought.

"Do you still play the guitar?" the man asked excitedly. "Oh, it doesn't matter. You'll still have music in your soul, I expect."

Rex was confused. The guitar? He hadn't played the guitar in over a year. And what did all this babbling about souls mean?

Rex scowled and gently rubbed at his legs. They were nearly useless now. Over the past few years, their pains had slowly gotten worse. First one of them and then the other had begun to fail him until Rex was forced to either sit or lie down nearly all day. The waves of pain in his thighs would come more often and stay longer. It felt like the devil was using his nerves as a fiddle.

There had been a doctor once who used the term "sciatica", but to Rex it meant the same damn thing as all the other diagnoses. He had to retire from his adventures.

With so much recurrent agony, Rex could barely move nowadays. He had even begun to wonder why living things needed "feeling".

He took a deep breath and began to speak. "Listen, partner…"

"I'm an old man now. The crippling disease took hold of me long ago. My friends, my wife, and my enemies are all gone. Soon I'll be gone too, and all that'll be left of me will be a couple songs, floating away to the jackalopes over the dusty desert breeze."

Then his eyes grew soft. "I'll admit I'm thankful for one last visit from somebody. But you best get now, stranger. Some big monster'll probably find me soon. Then I can have my last great adventure."

Rex raised his left arm. It was encased inside his greatest creation—an automatic gun-machine. When he was younger he had been able to keep it charged and maintained well enough to fire bolts of blue energy from it. But that had been long ago. Now his machine would go with him to the gates of death, firing regular bullets non-stop all the way.

"I see," said the mysterious man. He crossed his arms in thought. "So you're looking for a legendary death to rival your life."

Then he noticed Rex's gun-machine. "What a remarkable invention!" the man marveled, his eyes wide with awe. "I admire you as a fellow engineer-iteer. You used some sort of blue…matter, to power it, right?" The stranger stared at the gadget with such interest Rex almost felt as if he were being given a compliment.

The man shook his head sadly. "If we had met when you were young, we could have perhaps been the best of friends, Mister Marksley. I have little doubt." His voice was full of regret. Then he pointed at Rex's legs. "But now you're old and worn-down, like an obsolete machine."

A small wave of pain pulsed down the base of Rex's spine. Somehow he managed to keep his expression stoic.

"You were a heroic man, with the kindness of a big brother," the man continued speaking. "And the world would miss your bravery, charm, and spirit. There's always the need for adventure, after all."

Rex didn't quite know what to do, or what the man meant. But his well-honed instincts were screaming at him that something important would soon take place. Did this man bring the final adventure he longed for?

"They say you've done some great things out here, Mister Marksley. Well, I hope to preserve that greatness." The man grinned. "You may think your tale is over, but it is still being written."

Silence fell over the two men.

"…Who are you?" Rex finally asked.

The man met his gaze with troubled, dark eyes. "My name is Peter Walter," he said. "And I need you."

* * *

The Spine smiled. Sure enough, their maker had both started and ended Rex Marksley's greatest adventure ever. Peter Walter had given him a new spine and a new life, among other things. Like a family, friends, and maybe even…brothers, The Spine thought.

"Rex Marksley sure sounds impressive in this song!" The Jon remarked with a golden grin. He raised a lasso made from his shoelaces and whirled it around in the air.

"Y-Y-Yeah, don't you think you're giving yourself t-too much credit, Spine?" Rabbit teased.

The Spine chuckled, short plumes of hot air rising from his black lips. "What are you guys talking about? That stuff happened long ago. Who knows, maybe Rex really did do all of those amazing things. But such tall-tale heroics aren't for me anymore."

Then he frowned. "Besides, after seeing so much war, guns lost their appeal for me. Permanently."

"I see-eee," said Rabbit. "It's strange, isn't it? You and Rex seem like completely different people."

"Well, I'm a robot," The Spine reminded his brothers. "None of us are like our previous selves. Our lives are different and our souls have been changed. Nothing stays the same—people, events, and lifetimes all naturally transform each other. And we've all changed quite a bit."

"It wouldn't make sense to dwell on a foggy and barely-remembered past," said The Spine. "But we can be thankful for what we are today, and retell stories of who we were…once."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst. When SPG puts out their third album next year, I may have to re-write The Spine's chapter. :/ I like the idea of him as Rex Marksley, but it doesn't seem like a perfect fit to me. I'm hoping for more songs in Album 3 with "characters", such as Captain Albert Alexander or Rex Marksley. :)


	3. The Suspender Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Happy October everybody.)
> 
> I realize that with the recent event of Jon being let go from the band, this update's timing is…really regrettable. :( Still, this fic takes place at a different time than the present (and is written about the CHARACTERS, not the humans playing the robots), back when the three of them were in the early stages of making The Two Cent Show. But feel free to have as many Jon feels as you please.

"All-llright, The Jon, it's your turn!" Rabbit happily declared. He pointed a finger at the other robot for emphasis.

"Whaaaat?" The Jon replied, bringing his hands up to his feathered hat in a gesture of surprise. "You mean I get to make a story-song too?"

"Of course!" Rabbit smiled. "The rest of us have had our go at it, and now you get to try. That's w-w-what it means to take turns in a family. Right, Spine?"

"Mm-hmm." The Spine nodded at his brothers. When they had entered the practice room today, an unspoken thought seemed to be rattling along with the gears in their heads. Rabbit and The Spine had each made a song. That meant The Jon was up next to complete the set. And goodness knew what his story would be like…

"Well…okay," The Jon agreed. "I think I know what to do."

He pulled his red bowtie tight, smudging his fingers on the black grease that always collected on top of the ribbon. "Could some-robot pur-LEEZE fetch me a banjo?" he called.

It wasn't the weirdest thing The Jon had ever asked for, but it was still rather odd. Usually he only played the guitar or bass in addition to the occasional whack-a-mole stint on drums. He was also able to play the mandolin, but this was the first time he had requested a banjo. Nonetheless, Rabbit had already dug one out from a pile of instruments to the side.

The Jon thanked Rabbit and took the banjo. He plucked at the strings experimentally and began to tune it. Meanwhile, Rabbit sat down on the floor and looked up at The Jon like a little kid at story-time. The Spine elected to sit in a chair. He wondered if The Jon could actually play that instrument.

Then The Jon was ready. "Once…there was a certain Louisiana Bayou," he began. "Many straaaange things happened there, strange things indeed. They used to make up songs about them to scare visitors. Spooky stories, they were. And if you go down there when the fog's just right, while the moon is high…" he gave a quick strum of the banjo. "You just might become one of them yourself."

* * *

_One moooooonlit niiight…_

CRASH! Thunder boomed overhead. The swamp gators splashed and swam about while their tea trays clattered. Opossums pranced down a giant cypress tree and skittered through the violet fog. They snatched crumpets and cookies off of the tree-root table and dashed back without fear of being caught. The alligators were sleepy on the sweet bog air tonight.

It was on a night much like this one that the "Suspender Man" was rumored to have appeared out of the swamp.

They say that he had been more swamp creature than human, more myth than man. No one knew his real name or identity. Instead, they had all called him by the striking red suspenders that reached across his shoulders and down over his wide belly. The man in suspenders carried nothing but a banjo and a wide, snaggle-toothed smile.

And he was a fiend on that banjo. Any time of day or night he would string out the best tune to ever get caught in your ears. As long as you paid him a few coins, of course. Wrapped in leathery brown skin and guided by the green light of the swamp flies, he got rich off of the pennies people tossed at his feet.

For about a month the town hopped and jived to the beat of their new music-man. But then one day he disappeared with the bayou fog. All that was left were a pair of suspenders and his banjo, arranged neatly on his usual log.

That was how the town discovered the Suspender Man's secret. His great musical skill wasn't natural; it came from somewhere else. And it had cost the biggest price that anyone could give: his soul. Everyone shook their heads and spoke harshly of the foolish man who had dared to make such an exchange with the bog. They tossed all of his things into the river while the local witchdoctors and voodoomamas completed arcane rituals to "appease" the swamp. Hopefully the suspenders' curse would be gone forever. That man's music had been great, but they didn't need any bad juju magicks in their town.

Over time the townspeople created a short song about the man. It was mostly used to keep their children out of trouble and away from the dangerous bog. But some nosy tourists managed to overhear the rhyme and brought news of this charming local superstition back with them. The gossip spread, and after a few years the Suspender Man rumor had become one of the main attractions for the small bog town. Tourism was good for the locals, and they would still sing you the song in a hushed voice if you asked.

_Yes_ , thought Peter Walter. _That is why I have come_.

He stumbled through the brush and muck, surrounded by darkness and the sounds of the bog. Every step involved his tall boots sinking slightly into oh-God-only-knew-what and then pulling them out with a soft _splop_. He was bent under the weight of his bags squinted through the night while silently cursing the fact that he wasn't allowed to have a guide. Not if he wanted to do this right.

Peter kept his hands outstretched, sputtering as he fought spiderwebs and moss and oh-goodness-me-knew-what-else away from his face. He was certain that he'd find a frog nested in his hair within the hour. But he trudged onward like a bull, following the swamp flies' light (completely opposite the villagers' warnings about their misguidance, of course).

Finally the glowing bugs led him into an open clearing. Well, as open as this bayou could manage, Peter supposed. He clawed at his hair for any errant treesnakes and moved out across the mossy ground with wobbly steps. The sensation of solid ground beneath his feet was very offesetting after his muddy hike.

The young man made his way over to a nice log to sit down on. He released the neck of a banjo held in his left hand and let it fall to the ground with a sigh of relief. It felt so wonderful to rest. With his other hand Peter stuck his lamp-on-a-stick into the ground beside him. He sat for a minute and watched as the insects started to buzz around its light.

But he didn't pause for long. Peter stood up and shivered at the squelching in his boots. He began to unload the huge pack from his back. After a few struggles with the ropes it came untied and fell heavily to the ground. Peter flinched at the hollow _clang_.

Luckily though, the big pot hadn't been damaged. Shortly, Peter found himself breathing hard again as he worked to move the cauldron across the damnably-thick carpet of moss. He huffed and heaved until it was situated exactly right. " _Phew_. I really hope that I won't have to drag this all the way back empty-handed," he said. He leaned against the pot for a few sweet, deep breaths.

But as tired as he was, young Peter Walter also felt an equal amount of excitement. He was so close! After tonight his real work might finally begin.

He untied the pouches from his belt and knelt to the ground to organize them. When all the items had been counted and evaluated, Peter started to prepare them for the pot. He hummed a certain song to himself, reviewing the steps. Everything had to go precisely right.

See, the people back in the village were all very familiar with the Suspender Man legend. Plenty of them knew the song too, and it had been no problem to convince someone to sing it for him. But as the years had gone by, most people only viewed it as a spooky ghost story meant to entertain and attract tourists. The tourists themselves laughed and shrieked along to the scary beginning and the big reveal of the Suspender Man's powers. But by the ending their interest had waned. Almost no one remembered the last verse in detail. Peter had been lucky to hear the song from the oldest person in the village. Their shaky voice repeated decades-old lyrics to him in full, even if they couldn't quite get the melody right.

That was all Peter had needed to hear. He had thanked the elder profusely and immediately set off to gather these supplies. Ahh yes, the joy of a "Eureka" moment was truly without equal.

_How many of them knew_ , Peter mused further as he brought over the first ingredient. _How many of them knew that the song also contained a hidden recipe to make the magic suspenders yourself?_

He dropped a pair of red straps into the flashing cauldron.

* * *

_Big Suspenders!_   
_Put them in a blender,_   
_Three bat teeth and a blackened gypsy eye,_

_Bring it to a boil,_   
_Release your mortal coil,_   
_Out pops a belt to wear for you and me…_

It was done. Peter Walter relaxed and heaved a sigh. He had never performed voodoo before. But he was confident that the ritual had been followed exactly as described. The ingredients were added both in in the correct order and in precise time with the music's beat.

Peter wiped the nervous sweat from his brow. Magic rituals were very stressful! He half expected the jaws of Hell to swallow him up for some dreadful oversight. But as a proud member of the Cavalcadium he had to be brave and trust his brilliant ideas. It was amazing, he realized, how genius and madness could be so similar and yet so different.

It was now time to add the final ingredient. Calmly, Peter transferred a small object from his left hand to his right. The cool bayou air tickled his sweaty palms. "Here's your pay, O man of the suspenders," he muttered.

Peter tossed in a two-cent coin.

Immediately the concoction in the pot began to writhe and steam. It convulsed and twisted in on itself as the steam escaped to the air and mixed with the thick fog. Within seconds the fog had become denser, before spilling out from the pot and rising until Peter's vision was blocked completely.

Peter pulled his sleeve over his mouth and coughed on reflex. Evidently, however, this bone-white mist was not going to harm him. He could hear the pot's mixture bubbling and churning under its own power, loud as a whistle through the fog even though he could swear it was collapsing smaller, collecting into…something.

There were pops, there was fizzing, and a fantastical lightshow all around him with colors that didn't even exist and a ringing in his ears that sounded like laughter and the smoke kept on swirling swirling while the mixture kept on cooking cooking plonking against the sides making sounds like the strings of an instrument-

And then it all stopped.

The hazy fog began to clear away, escaping leisurely towards edge of the clearing with a sigh. The lights he could see were from the swamp flies' green glow. Peter's ears heard only the glorious sound of silence. Silence? Yes, even the pot had ceased its noisy job of transformation.

Peter cautiously approached the cauldron, wary of Hell's jaws once more. He did not dare to lean into the pot, but after stretching his neck a bit he could see that there was no longer any sort of liquid inside it. His scientist-mind immediately deduced that it had all been absorbed into something… most likely the red straps left at the bottom.

"…Hello?" Peter called. He waited for a response.

The straps in the cauldron twitched. Then they flopped. Then they wiggled. After a short pause, one end lifted up and snapped itself to the right in a vague salute. Peter ducked back as the suspenders flew up out of their birthplace and softly drifted on the air.

Peter had seen many strange things but this one was for the record books. Still, his surprise was equaled by his joy for a job well done. This is was it; this might be what he needed! "Hello!" he repeated. "It's you, isn't it?"

The suspenders flew on their own, riding on the fog over to where Peter had left the banjo. They stretched like elastic and pulled the instrument into the air. One coil looped around the bottom and its two heads began to pluck at the strings. The suspenders started out slow, but then quickly sped up to a frenzy. Peter listened to the incredible music in awe as the banjo thrummed almost strong enough to fracture.

He was practically in a trance when the impromptu song finally finished. His thoughts seemed far away. "Oh yes," he murmured finally. "You'll play music well enough for Delilah."

A peal of creaky laughter came from the pot. "Heeheeheeheehee, didn't think yoo was in it for dah music, mistah." Peter whirled around to face the cauldron at the sound. He turned back after realizing it only a voice just in time to see a specter expanding from the suspenders.

It bloated outward like a bubble, see-through and all. Within seconds it formed the shape of a short, pudgy man floating right above the log. His clothes were dingy and torn except for the suspenders across his shoulders. They shone like new. The man had an inhumanly wide grin and he plucked at the banjo covetously with a long, stained fingernail. His eyes were hidden from Peter's sight beneath the brim of an unusual feathered hat.

"So, yoo want mah suspenders, hmm?" The apparition laughed. "Well yer dah first white boy to get dis far, lemme say. Most others don't go a-chasin' aftah old ghosts like me-ee-heeheehee!" his speech dissolved into a high-pitched giggle that crackled through the damp air.

Then his smile turned into a grave frown. "Lissen good, sir. Dees suspenders o' mine are sumfin special, undahstand?" he addressed Peter. "They got dah powah o' charmed music in dem. Music 'nuff to touch peoples' souls and change dem 'round a few. It'll fetch yoo dah girls, dah fame, whae'er yoo want." If his hat had been tipped up, Peter was positive that he would have seen the man wink. "Even enough shiny coins to plate yer face gold."

"But ah need tah tell yoo, mistah," the spirit went on. He sounded evilly amused. "Whoe'er wears dees magic suspenders'll play a tune fit to grant their heart's desire…although they will ne'er again be quite in their right mind!"

"That's alright," Peter replied breezily. "I'm not planning to wear them."

The spirit was shocked. "Not yoo? Then who?" At first he sounded suspicious, and then angry. Peter began to regret being so rash with his speech. But after a moment another thought occurred to the transparent man.

"Oh. Gonna give 'em to someone else, eh? Harharhar, yoo must really hate some poor bloke!" The phantom on the log began to laugh again.

Peter did not reply. The ghost was wrong of course, but why tell him as much? In fact, Peter did not even plan to give the suspenders to a "man", really. He wasn't quite sure what effect this magic business would have on someone made out of circuitry and science, but Peter didn't have any choice. This was his last lead and the suspenders had already been summoned.

It would probably be alright. The magic would only fuel the sorcery of his science, and as long as the result had musical skill, that was all Peter needed. The mechanical man-to-be would still have "feeling", he imagined. That was the most important thing.

"I am in need of souls with great musical skill," Peter spoke. He tried to ignore the specter's ethereal giggles. "Unfortunately, you and your infamous suspenders count."

"You were a…unique man with a special, um, charisma," Peter faltered through his usual speech, "And the world could use the joy that you bring, your skill…and your magic." He nodded in satisfaction when he finished.

Peter then took a breath and looked at the apparition sternly. "Will you promise to behave yourself, Spirit of the Suspenders?" he asked.

The Suspender Man tugged on his red shoulder-straps with one thumb. His grin was the widest yet. "The bog makes no promises, mistah robut-maker."

There was a moment of silence from Peter.

"…You are quite crazy," he said slowly, "But I don't think you're a terribly bad soul. Actually," Peter smiled. "I think you'll fit right in with the others at my mansion."

He held out one hand. "Suspender Man, I promise that your suspenders will be put to good use. Your fable has just begun."

* * *

The Jon set down his banjo and tugged on a suspender with one golden hand. "Did I go good?" he asked with child-like innocence.

"…" said Rabbit.

The Jon tilted his head with a creak.

"…" said The Spine.

The Jon tilted his head the other way with a soft clack.

"…Jon?"

"Did you like it, Rabbit?" The Jon asked eagerly.

"Did I? Did I? _Did I? Did I-"_

"That was stupendous!" The Spine exclaimed over a verbally-malfunctioning Rabbit. "I didn't see that coming at all, but it was good and spooky!"

" _D-D-D-D-D-DID I EVER!_ " Rabbit shouted, finally breaking out of his loop. "Jon, your story-song is going to be my most favorite story-song of all story-songs for all time!"

"Really? Yaaaay!" The Jon smiled with pride.

"Good job, Jon." The Spine congratulated other bot. "Very good job indeed. I'm sorry for not giving you a chance sooner." He laughed, "I guess we're all in agreement then. Another song to work on and polish 'till it shines. Soon we'll have enough good ones for another album."

"You hear that, Jon?" Rabbit beamed. "We couldn't have done it without you! And oh hey…"

He pretended to examine The Jon's golden faceplate. "I guess your song makes a lot of s-sense, actually. You have to be crazy to make a deal with the bog. Or maybe you just become crazy afterward. Hard to tell."

The Jon shrugged. "It's not really that important. The spirit kinda…left 'cause the suspenders belonged to Pappy. And they work more for keeping my pants from falling down then for anything else." He shrugged again. "I'm glad if they help give me those song-visions though…"

Rabbit patted The Jon's shoulder. "Jon," he said, "I'm glad to know more about my best brother-robot-pal. P-pappy gave us all something special, y'know. A life, and a soul to start ourselves up from. He gave us "feelings", those wonderful things that just might be what makes us "human". He made sure we could sing and carry on his feelings too, the ones for Delilah, no matter what. And our music carried us even further than he imagined." Rabbit smiled. "It carries us through every day."

The Jon made a sniffling noise. "And…onward to tomorrow?"

Rabbit's head jerked up and down once for a nod. "As far as we can go," he confirmed.

The two of them shared a hug while The Spine gave a sympathetic smile for The Jon's fake-sobbing noises. Still though, it was a touching scene, and he walked over to give his brothers a reassuring silver hand on a shoulder each.

"Things grow and change," spoke The Spine. "But we keep moving forward somehow, supported by who we were once." He let a moment of silence pass before speaking again, this time with a lighter tone. "Hey guys, don't we have a new song to sing? Let's make it into something great."

And so the three of them settled down to talk about what they loved for the whole day long.

"Is it really a fun song to sing, Rabbit?"

"Yup! And this way even if you're not on stage with us, your song will still be."

"Hey you two, I just realized something. All of our pasts have been written now…into the legend of Steam Powered Giraffe!"

"Woah, Spine, you're right! C'mon guys, let's m-m-make that old steam-powered giraffe proud! Also 'The Two-Cent Show' sure has a nice ring to it…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We can be thankful for what we are today, and retell stories of who we were…once." –The Spine, chapter 2.  
> (Man, is that quote applicable to now.) The meaning of this quote to me is that it's okay to remember the past, however pleasant/unpleasant it may be, but try to recognize how you have grown and changed as a result. Hopefully you encounter many things that will change you for the better. I believe that SPG is one of those things.
> 
> Farewell, The Jon. I hope you're happy, and bringing happiness to others. I'll always remember the giant quesadillas.
> 
> And I wish good things for Jon Sprauge. :) He has taught us all very much.


End file.
